


Not To Hell

by Jimmfromit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Johnlock, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-23 21:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1580546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimmfromit/pseuds/Jimmfromit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A teenlock with a slightly warped John.<br/>John has to go to school a long way away, he doesn't expect to make friends, actually he expects the opposite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Watson’s forehead was pushed against the wall of his bedroom. He could feel the bumps in the plaster against his skin and could smell the cold on the wall. His fists were clenched so tight he thought his nails were going to pierce the skin. Every part of his body was wholly tensed and his mind was imploding, he just wanted to lash out at something, anything.  
By now the cause of his anger was less what the original cause was and more just about the fact that he was angry. He was always so angry at people. They were so stupid and horrible everything they said just automatically infuriated him. It meant that the quiet ones avoided him and the loud ones provoked him. He hated them and he hated himself and sometimes he just wanted to die.  
This time there was no way he would be staying at this school, even this place. They would send him away this time, send him away to some country school, as far away as they could get him. They didn’t want him here and they wouldn’t want him there it was a kind of awful limbo that he was constantly stuck in, nobody wanted him around.

There was nothing to pack really, he never had really cared for physical things. There were his clothes obviously but he didn’t really need many, his laptop and his phone, a few CD’s. And then there were his books, his many, many books. He couldn’t get angry with a book, it couldn’t change and he couldn’t change it. A book filled up his mind but didn’t make him want to throw things or hit things.  
There were more books than he could fit into the boxes that he was allowed to bring but he would come home and swap them when he wanted to, there was also the library. He wanted to stay here, were there were books and familiarity and no on new.  
When all the things were packed into boxes and a suitcase there was not really anything to do except wait for the next morning when his father would drive him out into the country to a big boys boarding school and he would try to stay in the shadows but invariably somebody would piss him off and it would all go to hell.  
For that afternoon he read a book, he sat quietly alone (as he always was) and fell far into a world where girls could walk out of flames and boys ruled great kingdoms. After he read he slept and found the peace that comes with a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really short I know. I will probably write more. My rule is that I will always try to add more within a week of the last time I did.


	2. Chapter 2

John’s things sat in the back of the car. There was something about the two cardboard boxes and a green case sitting there that was extremely final. There was absolutely nothing he could do to change the fact that he was going far away and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had expected he would be angry, everyone else had too, and they had tiptoed around him as if he was made of glass, but he wasn’t. He was calm and sad and just wanted to sleep, he wanted to sleep and stay away from everything.

He sat down in the front seat of the car and looked out the window and his father got in beside him, not speaking and turning the key slowly. John’s elbow rested on the windowsill and his hand held his chin, he closed his eyes and to make his mind empty like they all told him to.

The time passed at the normal rate that you would expect time to go at, not more quickly or more slowly. He looked out the window and saw very little of interest and the car kept going and they kept getting to a place that yesterday he had not wanted to ever be at but now he didn’t really give a shit just as long as he didn’t have to talk much and could have a peaceful space.  
-

He didn’t have to talk but he didn’t have a peaceful space. He had been put with the last boy left with nobody to share a room with. The room looked like a hazard sight. There were clothes and sheets and pieces of paper lying on every available surface including the bed that he concluded was his as on the other bed was a boy who looked far too long for it.

The boy in question he was told was named Sherlock Holmes and he was skinny as a twig. He had black hair that went in every direction including over his eyes. The black of his hair made for a startling contrast as his skin looked as if somebody had painted it white. He had on the school uniform but had managed to make it look like it was extremely fashionable. John looked at the peculiar other boy draped across his bed and was just about to speak when Sherlock did.

“They told me I had to be here,” He drawled in a voice that sounded like melted chocolate.

John ignored the comment of obvious distaste and dragged his things over to the only clear space in the room in the small space under desk on his side of the room. He didn’t want to be here and this guy certainly didn’t want him to be here, he hadn’t even bothered to move his shit of his bed.

“How do you feel about the violin?”

“What!?”

I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? If it does I don’t care,”

John stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him, he stood with his back against the wall and tried to breathe deeply. It didn’t work. Why couldn’t they have put him with some quiet kid who would just stay out of his way? It seemed that this Sherlock Holmes was going to be a right pain in the arse. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide and he wanted to kill the boy who was lying in the room that was to be his as if the world revolved around him. He wanted to kill him and see his body on the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

John turned around and placed his hand onto the doorknob. He could hear everything, all of the people in this building making the noises that people make. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, Sherlock was still lying on his bed, this time with his hands steepled under his chin. John wanted to yell at him, he wanted to do far more than yell but instead he went to his bed and cleared some of the debris, he sat down and stared a Sherlock then he opened his mouth and yelled loud enough that the entire dorm could here “Fuck You!”

He had expected Sherlock Holmes to jump up or shout or react in some way. Sherlock Holmes did not, he continued to lie there seemingly oblivious to the world around him. John could hear his own breath and he could taste something that he wasn’t quite sure of. Sherlock slowly sat up and swung his legs so that they were hanging over the side of the bed and he said extremely clearly “Why?”

“Why?”

“I think you heard me quite clearly. Why?”

“Why did I shout at you? Because I get angry with everyone and everything and I hate it so much,”

“No, why do you get angry?”

“Excuse Me?!” John could feel the anger that had been slowly dissipating rising again very quickly.

“I want to know why you get angry.”

“I don’t know, would you like to tell me, I’m sure your expert opinion would help me to understand myself BETTER!!” and then John stood up walked out of the room and down the corridor trying to get as far away from Sherlock as possible who was sitting there calm as day as if nothing at all had just happened.

John started running as soon as he got out of the grey breezeblock building that was where he was to live. There was an oval of that he assumed was used for playing one of the various sports games that the school website had boasted and he sprinted across it to the small patch of trees next to a brick wall in the very far corner of the school. If he was paying any attention to his senses he would have smelt the damp grass and heard the sound of teenager’s voices filtering from the building he had left behind. 

There were some rocks and some trees and some dirt. He sat down with his back against the cold brick wall. He was panting a little from the run across from the cluster of buildings he could see and his mind was full to the bursting of the fog that came from fury. He was angry with himself and he was angry with Sherlock bloody Holmes and he was angry with the school for thinking that he would be disinclined from murder if it got really bad. They seemed to think that he wasn’t as bad as what all his previous schools had thought and had risked putting him with some bloke that seemed too think he was an experiment for his own personal use to poke and prod as he saw fit.

Nobody had absolutely any right to treat John like a science experiment especially somebody who he had only just and unwillingly met. He wanted to die but he wanted everyone else to die with him, every single person on this stupid fucking planet should fucking die. There was no reason for their existence anyway, the only thing the human race had accomplished was the slow and horrible torture of the planet and everything on it. They didn’t even spare their own species, torturing and killing and raping every single person they could get their hands on. The human race was shit and he was probably the shittest of them all. 

John’s mind wandered to his home and his family. His father was most likely on his way home by now relieved to have him out of the way and his mother would be going to her yoga class which she complained about every week without fail but still continued to go regardless and Harry would still be in bed sleeping of last night’s activities. He wanted to be there so much even if they hated him and he hated them, he wanted to be home and far away from this place with a boy he hated so much and people who understood him even less than the people where he had come from. He wanted to go home, he wanted to go home, he wanted to go home and he fell asleep against the hard wall with chanting in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

John woke up to bright, bright afternoon sun bathing the grounds in the gorgeous colour of sun. His back was hurting from having sat in such an awfully uncomfortable position while he slept and he had trouble getting up because most of his body was still asleep. He stumbled out of the bushes that he had concealed himself in and squinting at the sun glaring in his eyes and began the walk back to the horrible place that they had put him.

Walking into the dormitory John realise just how many people stopped to look at him, those chatting in the halls were silenced quickly when he walked in the door. Everyone did that thing where you pretend not to notice something and have a quick look then avert your gaze. He felt his fists tightening and he struggled to keep his breath even. They knew who he was and why he was here because why would they not? News travels so fast among large bodies of students.

By the time he reached his room he was about to lash out at somebody and as soon as he saw Sherlock he did. There was the brief moment in which Sherlock drawled something about “finally” and then John’s fist was connecting with his jaw. John had no thoughts beforehand except that he hated everybody and he wanted to hurt one of them and that person just happened to be Sherlock.

There was pain in his fist from it being quite an awkward blow and quite likely pain in Sherlock’s face. He started panicking because you’re not supposed to punch you roommate on the first day of school at a school that you have been sent to because you were expelled from the last one, you just aren’t meant to. He was scared because where the hell were they going to send him next? And this kid Sherlock wasn’t exactly a comfortable sight, he was damn right formidable being taller than John by at least a foot and having hair that seemed to take control of his head and he was wearing a massive coat that made his skinny frame far less fragile seeming.

He expected Sherlock to lash out against him or to call out for help, his psychopath roommate had it in for him or to just do something that wasn’t smile. When somebody punches you in the face you do not smile it is incorrect it is wrong. John stepped back flabbergasted as the broad smile filled up Sherlock’s face, seeming to take over every bit with teeth and lips in a way that shouldn’t look good but really just looked stunning and beautiful all at the same time  
.  
“What? What was that? I don’t understand.”

“No one else. Nobody at all.”

“Who? What?”

“You’re brilliant John, you’re not like them at all,”

“Are you like them?” John thought to say, suddenly wary that this bloke might be having him on.

“No, no definitely not. I am so different, I would not want to ever the stupidity of any of them,”

Well now Sherlock was getting really vain, saying that he was so much smarter than anyone else, not exactly the best way to make friends is it?

“You don’t believe me. Believe that I am far superior to them in my intelligence,”

“No” John replied simply.

“I can prove it to you right now and I will. Your name is John Watson presumably with a middle name beginning with H but I don’t have enough data for that. You have problems with anger and controlling it which has earned you expulsion from the last three … no four schools. You hate it. If anyone bothered to think about you in any way other than a psycho with a temper they would see the depression and it’s eating you up but you haven’t seen it either so you can’t do anything about it. You have a brother named Harry who drinks too much and you think your parents have just about given up on both of you, you parents who don’t have much money they struggled to pay for this school. Do you think I’m intelligent now or did I just make all that up?”

John was entirely taken aback, nobody knew that much. Notably not even himself, but now he thought about it he did display some quite obvious signs of depression, he didn’t really eat, he felt absolutely beyond all help and hope and he spent a significant amount of time think that he would be better off gone from the world, these and quite a few other things. The only thing this crazy guy had gotten wrong was Harry, who was not in fact his brother but his sister.

After staying silent and attempting to process and understand what Sherlock had said for quite a lot of time he replied with “How?”

Sherlock laughed quietly and began to speak again “Well first off they gave me a sheet of paper with some basic information and where your name was it stated that you name was John H Watson. I was warned about you having anger issues and I can see by the quality and variety of you clothes” waving at Johns’ case “that you have been to several different schools and your parents haven’t been able to replace things like socks. The depression is obvious from a number of factors that are not worth mentioning.” 

He stuck his hand quite intrusively into John’s pocket and took his mobile phone, “when you came into the room and put your things down you phone fell out of your pocket and I noticed the scratch marks near the charging port and the engraving on the back, first off the scratch marks indicate that whoever owned this mobile before you drank and quite a lot as their hand slipped every time they tried to plug in their phone creating a small scratch. Secondly, the engraving on the back ‘Harry’ suggest that this phone did not always belong to you. I know that it was your brothers because neither you or your father seem to be the kind of people who would spend money on something like this,” he paused and looked at john a minute as if ascertaining that what we was doing was alright and John was surprised because normally this level of intrusion would anger him but this time he was just intrigued.

Sherlock finished off with “and your parents finances; I watched your father driving in, the car was at least ten years old, also going back to your clothing, if your family was well off they would have been able to purchase an entirely new uniform instead it is quite mismatched,”

John was amazed, amazed at this strange person who had the ability to know everything about you in less than a day and amazed at himself that he was not in the process of disposing of Sherlock’s body and standing there totally intrigued at what he had to say, “Brilliant, unbelievable!”

**Author's Note:**

> It's really short I know. I will probably write more. My rule is that I will always try to add more within a week of the last time I did.


End file.
